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In Litvinov's soul rose, like sudden gusts of wind before a storm, momentary impulses of fury. He determined to leave Baden at once. Getting a carriage, he took his box to the station. He was just taking his seat in the railway carriage. "Grigory Mihalovitch... Grigory..." he heard a supplicating whisper behind him.
"Grigory Mihalovitch," she cried, as soon as he had closed the door behind him, "here we are alone at last, and I can tell you how glad I am at our meeting, because it... gives me a chance... of asking your forgiveness." Litvinov started involuntarily at this unexpected reference to old times. "Forgiveness... for what?" he muttered. "For what?
He determined to tell Tatyana the truth, and in the morning he steeled himself for the interview. He found her alone, and with an effort stumbled out the introductory words of his confession. Tatyana stopped him abruptly in the middle. "Grigory Mihalovitch," she said in a measured voice, while a deathly pallor overspread her whole face, "I will come to your assistance.
There was a glorious scent. "What a pretty boy!" said the lady. "Whose boy is it? Kazimir Mihalovitch, look what a charming fellow! Good heavens, he is asleep!" And the lady kissed Yegorushka warmly on both cheeks, and he smiled and, thinking he was asleep, shut his eyes. The swing-door squeaked, and there was the sound of hurried footsteps, coming in and going out.
In the passage some one shouted at the top of his voice: "Grigory! The samovar!" "LET me; I want to drive myself! I'll sit by the driver!" Sofya Lvovna said in a loud voice. "Wait a minute, driver; I'll get up on the box beside you." She stood up in the sledge, and her husband, Vladimir Nikititch, and the friend of her childhood, Vladimir Mihalovitch, held her arms to prevent her falling.
Litvinov made haste to drink off his glass of milk, paid for it, and, putting his hat on, was just making off past the party of generals... "Grigory Mihalovitch," he heard a woman's voice, "don't you recognise me?" He stopped involuntarily. That voice... that voice had too often set his heart beating in the past... He turned round and saw Irina.
I beg you, Ivan Mihalovitch, if you really love and respect me, please make an end of this pursuit of me! You follow me about like a shadow, you are continually looking at me not in a nice way, making love to me, writing me strange letters, and . . . and I don't know where it's all going to end! Why, what can come of it?" Ilyin said nothing.
Not at home, you say? H'm! . . . Thank you. Very good. I shall be much obliged . . . Merci." At twelve o'clock the maid came in to announce that Vladimir Mihalovitch had arrived. Sofya Lvovna, staggering with fatigue and headache, hurriedly put on her marvellous new lilac dressing-gown trimmed with fur, and hastily did up her hair after a fashion.
I would rather let myself be killed than be a cause of unhappiness to Andrey and his daughter. . . . And I beg you, Ivan Mihalovitch, for God's sake, leave me in peace! Let us be as good, true friends as we used to be, and give up these sighs and groans, which really don't suit you. It's settled and over! Not a word more about it. Let us talk of something else."
"And how beautiful she is," thought Yegorushka, remembering her face and smile. Kuzmitchov, too, was probably thinking about the countess. For when the chaise had driven a mile and a half he said: "But doesn't that Kazimir Mihalovitch plunder her right and left! The year before last when, do you remember, I bought some wool from her, he made over three thousand from my purchase alone."
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